Page 20 of Shark’s Edge

“Tell me.” I took one more step. Our toes touched, and she had to tilt her head back to keep her gaze locked with mine. “Tell me, Little Red.”

I bent forward, almost brushing my lips to hers.

Waiting.

Waiting for her answer.

“Twenty-two. I turned twenty-two at the beginning of January.”

“Jeeeessssus Christ.” I pulled back, scrubbing my palm down my face and around to the back of my neck, where I squeezed tightly, trying to get a handle on my lust-addled brain.

“What just happened? What did I miss?” Her confused look wasn’t unexpected.

“Momentary loss of my better judgment. Forgive me.”

“For what? I would’ve told you to stop.” She met my stare straight on. Ballsy girl. Sexy girl. “But I didn’t want you to stop.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” I stepped back from her slightly.

She quickly closed the space between us. “I know exactly what I’m saying.”

“I find that hard to believe. You’re barely old enough to order a drink at a bar, let alone tangle with a bastard like me.”

“Don’t overestimate yourself, Mr. Shark.”

I couldn’t help but grin at the flash of boldness. “Maybe you shouldn’t underestimate me, Ms. Gibson. Ask my assistant what an overbearing asshole I am. She probably has a story to match every minute of the day. Although if she were honest with herself, she’s no picnic to be around either.”

“She seems quite nice to me.” Abbigail shrugged, something I noticed she did routinely. “She even allows me to keep my trolley in the alcove by her printer while I service the offices on this floor. She wouldn’t do that if she weren’t kind.”

She looked triumphant that she proved me wrong in one simple sentence. Then a slow smile spread across her heart-shaped lips. “I’d guess you’re probably more like a Chihuahua than a shark, as your name suggests, Sebastian. All bark, no bite.”

Boy, she really thought she had me figured out, didn’t she? Time to put this pup back in her crate.

I pressed against her body with my own, thrusting her against the wall behind her. The semi-erect cock lazing in my boxers surged to full attention from the heat radiating through our layers of clothing.

“I wouldn’t mind sinking my teeth into you, Little Red,” I said softly beside her ear as I tucked a wayward strand of silky hair behind it. “In fact, I’d like to sink a couple other body parts of mine”—I pushed my hips against her belly in punctuation—“into yours.” Slowly, I pulled back to get lost in her kelly-colored eyes.

“But?” Her voice was tinged with impatience. Not the reaction I was going for, but maybe the cat-and-mouse game was growing old?

I leaned my head far to the side, lewdly surveying the curve of her backside.

“It is a stellar ass, Abbigail. But I can’t say I expected you to jump right into that arena. You’re full of surprises today.” I suspected my eyes were glittering with mischief.

She gave me a be serious glower. “I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”

“You just did.” I arched a brow in challenge.

She huffed before getting back to her original point. “I was sensing you had an objection to your own comment.”

“My objection is to several things.” I lifted my hand to hold it directly between our faces, ticking off the problems as I voiced them.

“First . . . ” My index finger popped tall, making me imagine drawing a line from her bottom lip, down her neck, and around the back to untie the apron’s knot and then watching it fall to the floor between us. My eyes skittered to the ground, observing the imaginary fabric crumple to a heap and then flashed back to hers as I made my point. “You’re much too young to be sullied by a scoundrel such as me.”

She quirked her brow at my use of such archaic terms, but I wasted no time adding a second finger to my first.

Now my brain gave me thoughts of two fingers deftly working the moorings free on her button-down shirt and then spreading the two halves wide to discover what type of lingerie she hid beneath her sensible work clothes. Was she a utilitarian girl all the way down to her creamy white skin? Or was there a little bit of vixen underneath the layers of cotton? A sexy siren waiting to be uncovered and appreciated—stroked and petted by my skillful hands.

I dashed out the second reason. “You work for me. Vendors make messy bedfellows.”